#moolinda

“Okay.” Cyrus looked around. It was past one now. There was no one around the streets, at least, there shouldn’t be. There weren’t many rules when it came to upperclassmen, but the younger students did have a curfew at ten. They had to be inside, and all lights were off at eleven. He grabbed Quinn’s arms and pulled him up to his feet. “Okay, come on, let's get inside my classroom. I can take a look at it.” Quinn whimpered again but stumbled after Cyrus. Cyrus kept a hand on his lower back, trying his best to lead him along. Quinn almost fell a handful of times, but thanks to Cyrus’s grip and Quinn’s will, even though he was absolutely wasted and suffering a concussion, they made it into the classroom without any mishaps.

Cyrus sat Quinn in a chair at one of the desks. He shoved the actual desk away for more room so he could crouch in front of him. He grabbed the sides of his face, pressed his pointer fingers against his temples, and concentrated. Quinn trembled in his hold, and while he was staring right at him, his eyes looked distant. Like he wasn’t all there. Cyrus sighed. “Quinn? Are you still here with me?” Quinn tried to nod his hair, then hissed as agony shot up the back of his neck.

“O-Ow… It… It hurts.” Cyrus’s heart panged. Everyone could say what they wanted; he was one of the toughest teachers here, he did have a snarky tongue, but he still cared about the students in his own way. He cared about them enough to never want to see them hurt, or go out of his way to cause them physical pain. Seeing Quinn like this hurt, and it hurt even more because he knew he was the cause of it. What Quinn had said had been cruel, but Cyrus should’ve known better. He shouldn’t have let his emotions get the better of him. He was a Professor, a teacher, a guide before anything. His emotions didn’t matter, only his disciples.

Then again, he hadn’t been sticking to that much lately, hadn’t he?

“Why are you so drunk? What were you thinking, drinking that entire bottle and then trying to duel me?” He kept his voice firm, even though his soul was trembling. Quinn grunted.

“Wanted to fight. Didn’t matter if… If I was drunk.” Cyrus paused at the words and mulled them over for a moment, but then decided he would tackle that later. When Quinn wasn’t bleeding from his head.

“Well are you can see, it does matter. Did something happen to make you drink so much before the duel?”

Quinn fell silent. He swallowed and tears welled in his eyes. Cyrus paused. He pulled his hands back as he stared, his lips parted in surprise. He had never seen Quinn… Cry. Even when he and Sarai came back to tell them what had happened, with Sarai clinging to his arm and sobbing, with his empty eyes and still face.

“S-Sarai,” Quinn finally stuttered out. “She… She left her amulet.” His bottom lip trembled and he whimpered. “She doesn’t… She doesn’t wanna be my friend anymore.” Quinn reached up and rubbed his temple. Cyrus grabbed his hand and pulled it back. He didn’t want him to mess anything up, or disturb the magic he had wrapped around his head. Quinn’s hand trembled in his grasp. “She… She’s left me too,” Quinn whimpered. Tears began to roll down his cheeks. “I’m all alone now, and, and it’s my fault. It’s all my fault. I’ve lost my only best friends and, and it’s my f-fault…!” His words trailed off into a sob and he covered his face with both of his hands. Cyrus stared at him before he chewed his bottom lip. He stood and looked at the back of Quinn’s head, then winced. His magic had helped with the bleeding, but it had done nothing for the cut the jagged stones on the wall had made. He could only do so much as a Myth wizard. The nearest hospital was halfway across town.

But, then again, he did know of one teacher that often stayed up as late as he did...

“Come on. We need to go to Professor Moolinda.” Quinn whimpered and shook his head. “Quinn.”

“Can’t,” he slurred out. “I can’t, I’ll fall and just get hurt again!” He whimpered and Cyrus sighed through his nose. “’m really hurt, ’m really hurt…!”

“I know.” Cyrus’s voice was a level of softness he never gave students. He knew Quinn wouldn’t remember much of this anyway, being so wasted and with his head cut open. “I know you are, Quinn. I know. But we need to go to Moolinda. Can I carry you?”

“C— Carry me?” Quinn muttered. “You’re like… A twig, Professor…” Cyrus snorted and crouched down.

“I was also in a war,” he informed him. “Now come on. This’ll be easier if you wrap your arms around my neck.” If Quinn were sober, he’d be uncomfortable, even insulted with the idea of being carried like a child. Especially by someone like Cyrus. But he was very much not sober, so he lifted his arms and threw them around Cyrus’s neck without complaint. Cyrus wrapped his arms around Quinn’s waist and took a deep breath before he pushed them onto his feet. He huffed and stumbled back a bit as Quinn’s entire weight was laid on him. Quinn’s feet brushed against the floor before he lifted his legs and wrapped them around Cyrus’s waist. He was essentially koala-ed himself to the professor, with his legs wrapped around his waist and his arms wrapped around his neck. Cyrus huffed and adjusted him, bringing him up higher so he had a stronger grip. The last thing he needed was dropping Quinn on the path.

He pushed the classroom door open with a hip, kicked it shut behind him, and then hurried the best he could with Quinn in his arms, down the path, right towards the Life School. The entire way there, Quinn kept muttering one thing, over and over again.

“’m really hurt…”

After the fifth time, Cyrus began to wonder if he was even talking about the wound.

*

Moolinda Wu, Professor of the Life School, often stayed late to grade papers and tend to the garden she had in a side room. She had finished grading papers awhile ago and was just finishing up her gardening when she heard her door swing open. She looked up from the Pink Dandelion that she was tending to, blinking in confusion, before she heard shuffling and then a voice.

“Moolinda? Are you here?”

“Cyrus?”

She stood and took off her gloves, disposing them into an empty flower pot near the door. When she stepped into the main room of her classroom, she gasped. Her co-worker was cradling a student she recognized all too well in his arms, his hand pressed against the back of his head while the student hid his face in Cyrus’s shoulder. “Is that Quinn?! What happened?!”

“He’s hurt. There’s a cut on the back of his head. I was able to stop the bleeding for a while, but it’s starting back up again.”

“How did he get hurt?!”

Cyrus hesitated. While Quinn wasn’t allowed to drink on school grounds, Cyrus also wasn’t allowed to duel a student with supervision. It was because of moments like this. Cyrus had never told Ambrose that Quinn was drinking, mainly because he knew he was a good kid and an… okay student, when put up to Cyrus’s standards. His family didn’t need him being suspended for drinking, or, worse, expelled. It would be the worst thing that could happen to his family. It’d be put right up there with their home practically becoming inhabitable except for maybe ten, fifteen percent of the land. But Quinn was a good kid, and Cyrus knew that if he covered it up, then Quinn would go with whatever he said.

“I found him on the ground. I believe he tripped and cracked his head on the floor. He reeks of alcohol, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he was wasted.”

“Oh, the poor boy! Hold on, I have a cot in the supply closet!”

Cyrus looked down at Quinn as Moolinda rushed out of the room. He was mumbling things, but it was too low for him to understand. He didn’t ask for him to speak up, he just kept him close, and didn’t comment on the dampness that was spreading on his shoulders. Moolinda hurried back inside, holding a collapsible cot on wheels. She unfolded it easily enough and laid it down, and while Cyrus lowered Quinn down onto the cotton surface, she crossed the room to a shelf of potions she had. She grabbed a few vials, checking the labels at record speed before she grabbed her wand from her desk. Her wand was a fan, much like the ones from her homeland, Mooshu.

Quinn had tears streaming down his face still as she approached, and her heart ached at the sight. “P-Professor Wu…?” He stuttered out as he looked up at her with glassy eyes.

“Hello dear,” she whispered. “Can you drink a few things for me? Please?” Quinn whimpered but nodded. “Cyrus, can you help him sit up? I’ll look at his head while he’s drinking.” Cyrus nodded and grabbed Quinn’s hand long enough to pull him up, then pressed his hand against his upper back to keep him there. He took the three vitals from Moolinda. “Don't have him drink this one just yet,” she told him as she handed the last vial, one that was a midnight blue with sparks that swirled inside of it. Cyrus furrowed his eyebrows but just nodded. Myth didn’t deal with a lot of potions, so he just took her word for it. He knew he could. As he got Quinn to drink the other too—one was a strawberry red and the second was a sickly green color, the smell was atrocious and it took him a while to get Quinn to finally drink it all down—Moolinda focused on the back of Quinn’s head. She winced as she found the cut in his wild hair. The strands around it were matted with blood, both dry and fresh. It wasn’t that bad, she had certainly seen worse in her short but eventful lifetime, but it sure looked painful. How hard had he hit his head, falling down? She shook her head and decided to focus on healing the wound, rather than debating on what could have caused it. She opened her fan with the flick of her wrist, and green magic danced across the top of the folds. As she fanned it towards him, the cold air drifted the sparks right to the back of his head. They settled into the cut and slowly sealed it shut. Quinn twitched every now and then, but he had gone considerably quiet after he drank both potions. Moolinda shut her fan and nodded to Cyrus after the cut was sealed completely. “He can drink the last one now.”

As Cyrus coaxed Quinn into drinking the last potion—it was easier than before, as Quinn thought the potion tasted rather sweet—Moolinda retrieved some gauze to wrap around Quinn’s head. While the cut was sealed and no longer at risk of bleeding, it was still sensitive to touch and the air. She didn’t want to risk it becoming infected, or opening up again. After she was done, she gently lowered Quinn back on the cot. Quinn made a soft sound and then shut his eyes, lifting his arms to hug himself. “Will he be alright?” Cyrus asked. Moolinda nodded.

“Of course. The potions I gave you were to help with the pain and to get him to sober up.”

“What about the third potion?”

“Sleeping draft. The sober potion has been known to leave people with some really bad headaches, so I thought it best if he slept through the pain.”

Cyrus nodded as he stared down at Quinn. The young man was already relaxing in the cot. His face relaxed and he didn’t look so tense, but no less sad. His breaths evened out, and though they hitched every now and then, they weren’t as shaky as before. His face was already starting to get some color back into them. “Come on, let’s move him to the backroom. It’s warmer in there.” Cyrus nodded.

They moved Quinn into the storage room where Moolinda kept piles of books and a few other backup cots. Cyrus had heard rumors that she often let students who stayed up too late studying or were obviously combating some sort of sickness nap in the cots during classes, though he had never swung back long enough to see if it was true. He had his own classes after all, and he rarely even stepped into the Life classroom. It was much sadder now, without… Sylvia. It was easier to say and think her name nowadays, but still difficult. He heaved a sigh as he and Moolinda placed the cot down beside a crate, where there was a lantern. As Moolinda lit it, Cyrus retrieved a blanket from one of the boxes and draped it over Quinn. He was beginning to tremble from the cold.

“It’s so sad,” Moolinda whispered. Cyrus looked at her. She was staring down at Quinn, and as she did, she reached out and brushed his messy strands from his forehead. “Before… Well… You know… He was such a bright student. He and Sarai both. But they’ve been the same since…”

“I’ve heard that he drinks a lot, but not nearly as much as this. Not enough to get hurt.” Drake glanced down at him. “I wouldn’t think he’d drink on school grounds.”

“He could have certainly been in one of the taverns,” Moolinda pointed out. “He’s twenty-two, we can’t exactly bar him from going in there.” Cyrus sighed.

“I suppose so.” He looked at Moolinda. “Speaking of Sarai, he mentioned her. He said something about her leaving an amulet, and that she didn’t want to be his friend anymore. Do you know anything about that?” Moolinda shook her head, then hesitated.

“Well, perhaps.” Cyrus raised a thin eyebrow. “Sarai… Several days ago, she left a note on my desk. She thanked me for all I had done for her and the lessons I had taught her, but she said there wasn’t anything for her here. She told me she was going somewhere else, to quest. I have absolutely no idea where she went, though.” Cyrus stared at him before he looked down at Quinn.

“That doesn’t sound like her at all.” Moolinda sighed.

“Cyrus, she wasn’t even your student, how would you—”

“Everyone knew about Sarai and Quinn and… Everyone knew them, Moolinda. Everyone. Those three barely separated, they were with each other through thick and thin. You would think Sarai and Quinn would only cling to each other after what happened.”

“Cyrus, grief changes people. So does loss. Especially a loss like—”

“I am well aware.”

Moolinda realized she had touched a sore subject and she sighed. Of course. Cyrus would know just as well as Quinn what it was like to lose someone. He had lost two people, actually. Just as Quinn had. They stood in silence for a while, staring down at Quinn as he slept. He looked peaceful. Cyrus wondered if he felt that way, and if he did, how long it had been since he had last felt it.

“You should go, Cyrus.” Moolinda’s gentle voice broke the silence. “Sunday is your busiest day, isn’t it? Your students have an exam.”

“I’ll postpone it.”

Moolinda stared at him. She blinked once, twice, and wondered if she needed to get her ears checked. “You’ll— You’ll what?” Cyrus looked at her.

“I’ll postpone it. I’ll go and write up an official form and put it on the door now, actually.” He turned towards the door.

“Cyrus! You kept teaching even when you had the Krok Plague a few years ago! You’re seriously going to postpone your exam for this boy? He will be fine, the concussion will heal as he sleeps—”

“Everyone has left him, Moolinda.”

Moolinda paused. She stared at him. She swallowed. Cyrus was gripping the doorknob in his hand, staring down at his hand. He had a black band on his ring finger there. There was an intense emotion in his eyes, and Moolinda didn’t have to be a psychic to know what he was thinking of. Or, well, who.

“I won’t leave him.” Cyrus looked back at her and shook his head before he pushed the door open. “I won’t leave him like I left Malistaire.”

He shut the door behind him, leaving Quinn and Moolinda. She stared at the door for a few moments and then sighed, taking a few steps to leave, when Quinn suddenly whimpered. She faltered and looked back at him. His face was twisted a bit like he was in pain. She furrowed her eyebrows before she waved her wand, and sparks came from it and fell over him. He wasn’t in any pain, the sparks would turn red if he was, but they stayed golden as they bounced off him and landed on the floor. She got an idea, and she waved her wand again. A soft stream of light came from the tip this time, and it fell over him like a blanket. A cloud formed above him and in it, a scene began to play.

He’s lying in the cot. Sarai is beside him, stroking his hair as her other hand glows green. She’s smiling at him and her eyes twinkle in the low lighting of the lantern beside her. She looks beautiful, as Moolinda was seeing her through Quinn’s eyes.

The cloud dispersed and left Moolinda feeling empty and sad. It had been a dream, but it was a dream she knew he wished to be real. She could feel him aching, could feel the hurt that had burrowed itself deep into his soul. It made her own ache. Perhaps it was the Life sorceress in her—they were always much more receptive to emotions—or perhaps it was just because she missed Sarai too. She missed Sarai, she missed him, she missed Quinn too. She missed the man he used to be.

And she could tell that he did too.